


This Is Just Porn. What Do You Want From Me? A Hozier Lyric?

by GoldenDaydreams



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, M/M, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slight hand kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26214994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenDaydreams/pseuds/GoldenDaydreams
Summary: Sexual tension comes to a head moments before Jaskier is to perform.So summon on the pearl rosary,Let the reason come on the common tongue of your loving me-Hozier, 'Moment's Silence (Common Tongue)'[Fine, a Hozier lyric, as a treat.]
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 105





	This Is Just Porn. What Do You Want From Me? A Hozier Lyric?

It was strange to be in such an opulent room, full of fine things. Fresh cut flowers artfully arranged in expensive vases, the drapes were made of silk, the, and a tapestry hung upon the wall. The fire in the hearth lit and warmed the room, the scent of woodsmoke familiar, and grounding in this unfamiliar room.

A witcher didn’t belong in such a room, wouldn’t be here if not for Jaskier. The talented bard had become a favourite of a noble in Toussaint, who’d given him this room for the duration of his stay. 

Jaskier who was naked, kneeling on the bed, watching Eskel. “Hurry up, take it all off.” Eskel fumbled with the laces on his trousers as Jaskier licked his lips, dragging just his fingertips along his length, teasing himself, but not taking himself in hand as Eskel had expected. Eskel’s trousers and small clothes joined the discarded clothing on the floor, and Jaskier breathed out a soft curse. 

There was something ethereal about the way Jaskier moved, an unreal grace, a performance even here, giving a show as natural as breathing. He sprawled on the bed, reaching with one hand for Eskel, even as he rolled onto his back. The long lines of his body on display, his fingers grazing his cock, then up his ribs, circling one of his nipples, fingertips guiding Eskel’s gaze, up to his throat, jaw, fingers into his mouth, and moaning around them. 

Eskel throbbed just looking at him. Jaskier’s feet planted in the blankets, pushing himself closer to the edge of the bed, letting his head hang off, reaching for, and grabbing Eskel’s hips, and Eskel very quickly figured out Jaskier’s intentions. 

“The mouth on you,” Eskel muttered, a familiar phrase, though usually used in a different context. Jaskier tended to get mouthy with anyone who said a bad word toward witchers, and that often got him into troubles he then needed those witchers to get him out of. This time, it was muttered in reverence of the wet heat of his mouth wrapped around Eskel’s cock. 

In response, Jaskier hummed, and grabbed one of Eskel’s hands, putting it on his chest; a request and permission in one. 

Jaskier’s hands were guiding, back on Eskel’s hips, pushing him away, and pulling him back in. He pushed away once more, until his mouth was free and he panted for breath. “Fuck my mouth.” 

Eskel groaned. “And if you need me to stop?”

Jaskier patted Eskel’s thigh three times in quick succession.

A moment of apprehension. “Are you sure?”

“Eskel, please, please, please-”

He shushed Jaskier, his large hand basically covering the entirety of Jaskier’s exposed throat, not squeezing, just touching, holding, feeling the excited pulse under his fingertips. He gave in easily to the begging, it lined up so well with his own desires, making it impossible to resist. 

Each thrust was slow, measured, careful. Pleasure spread through his body like waves, expanding and retreating, growing more powerful like an incoming storm. 

He let his hands wander down Jaskier’s chest, delighting in the feel of him, in the way that Jaskier was open, bearing himself without fear, smelling of arousal and home. He was careful as he thrust into Jaskier’s mouth, reaching for the man’s cock, feeling Jaskier’s blunt nails digging into his backside when he wrapped his fingers around the hard length. 

Overeager, Jaskier’s feet tangled in the blankets as he pushed himself closer, thrusting into Eskel’s hand, and choking on his cock, his chest heaving. Eskel took a step back in concern, and Jaskier panted hard. 

“Fuck you’re big.” Jaskier cleared his throat, as he wrapped his callused fingers around Eskel’s cock, and slowly started stroking. “I wonder how long you’d have to finger me open so I could take it, hmm?” He grabbed Eskel’s hand as he shifted up to his knees. Without breaking eye contact he guided Eskel’s hand to his lips, his tongue darting out to lick one finger from palm to tip. “Even your fingers are thick, I could spend hours just using them for my pleasure.” 

The idea planted in his mind, and made him throb in Jaskier’s hand. “We don’t have that kind of time,” Eskel said, knowing that Jaskier was to perform after dinner, and the sun was already starting to set. 

Jaskier pressed his forehead to Eskel’s. “Another time then? Tell me this isn’t it, tell me you feel the same as I do, tell me this isn’t the end of us.” 

Eskel didn’t have words for this thing they’d been circling around for ages, didn’t have words to express the well of emotions every time he saw the bard, or heard him play, saw him smile, or had the privilege of sleeping in close quarters, or the hundred little ways in which Jaskier had burrowed into a heart he’d long thought cold and dead. 

In lieu of words, he spoke in actions, cradling the back of Jaskier’s head with one hand, his other arm around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him to the edge of the bed, chest to chest. He swallowed the gasp of the bard, pouring himself into the kiss, too enraptured by Jaskier to have the usual self-deprecating thoughts about the way part of his lips were scarred, and didn’t quite move right. 

Jaskier’s arms wrapped around his neck, fingers threading through his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp in such a way that it sent a tingling sensation down the back of his neck. 

The knock on the door startled the both, Jaskier tensing in his arms for a second before a voice followed. “Master Bard, Lord Tomasz is expecting your performance.” 

“Yes, I’ll be right there!” Jaskier called out in a cheerful voice that was in direct conflict of the way he rolled his eyes, and tipped his head back, dramatically expressing his irritation. 

Now that Eskel was paying attention, he could hear the servant’s retreating footsteps. Jaskier’s hands flattened, smoothed over the skin of Eskel’s shoulders, and chest, fingers splayed like he wanted to touch as much as he could before parting. 

He glanced down at his own cock, hard, flushed, tip glistening, with a mournful expression. He tried to press it down, and muttered a list of constellations, clearly trying to will his erection down. 

Eskel had a better plan, with a hand on the center of Jaskier’s chest, taking a second to take in that excited heart, he pushed him down onto the bed, and Jaskier smiled, delighted, wrapping his legs around Eskel as he climbed onto the bed. 

“Lord Tomasz will not be pleased with me,” Jaskier said as if he wasn’t particularly concerned about it. 

“I’m going to suck you off,” Eskel said. His words seeming to punch out a little ‘oh’ from Jaskier. “Then you’re going to get dressed.” He kissed Jaskier once, then his jaw, his neck. “You’re going to go and play your songs.” He kissed along Jaskier’s chest, nipping one of his nipples, delighting in the way that Jaskier’s back arched. “And when you’re done—” he kissed lower, and lower still, “—you return here.” His mouth just over Jaskier’s cock, the bard stared at him with wide eyes. “I’ll be waiting.”

He swallowed Jaskier down, enjoyed the way that Jaskier shouted, the way his thighs trembled, the way that one hand clenched in the sheets, and the other in Eskel’s hair. 

He popped off, nipping at the sensitive flesh of Jaskier’s inner thighs. “Take your pleasure, Jask. We’re on a time limit.” 

Jaskier whined when Eskel’s lips wrapped around his cock once more. Instead of thrusting into his mouth, as Eskel had expected, Jaskier’s hands threaded into his hair, fisting there, guiding him into a rhythmic bobbing. 

Every time Jaskier pulled him back up, he sucked hard, drawing out sounds from Jaskier so sweet he thought he’d die without an encore. He wished they had more time. Later he would draw their pleasure out, he’d worship Jaskier for hours, he had years worth of fantasies that deserved to be a reality. 

“Fuck.” Jaskier thrust as he guided Eskel down, making him gag a little but when Jaskier gave his hair a gentle tug, he went against it, fighting his gag reflex to let Jaskier into the back of his throat. Jaskier went through three octaves as he cried out, flooding Eskel’s mouth with such surprising intensity Eskel jerked back, embarrassingly coughing, before he could swallow, and ended up with the last spurt of Jaskier’s hot spend on his face. 

They stared at each other, panting for breath. 

“Sorry,” Jaskier said. “I didn’t expect—you—fuck—wow.” He seemed beyond coherent sentences, but reached up, and brushed his thumb through his release on Eskel’s cheek. Eskel turned into the touch, and licked Jaskier’s thumb clean. “Fuck. Fuck. You can’t just do that,” he whined. “I have to perform. The point was not to have a tent in my pants when I do.” 

Eskel refused to apologize for such a thing, but he did move back. The space between them made things no less electric, magnetic, Eskel wanted to reach out, touch, hold, keep Jaskier in this room, in this bed, to make love to him until they fell asleep wrapped up in one another. 

Later. Those desires would have to wait for later. 

There had been a bath sent up hours ago, but not drained. Eskel felt Jaskier’s eyes on his back as he walked over to the basin, and grabbed the damp cloth. Returning to Jaskier, he gently wiped off the mess of come and saliva on his cock. 

Jaskier’s lips met his, soft and slow. “We could sneak away—”

“Go,” Eskel said. He wouldn’t rob Jaskier of the opportunity, these were the kinds of events that could make or break a bard’s reputation. “I’ll wait.” 

A sigh as Jaskier collected his discarded shirt. “Why must you be so practical?” 

Eskel had an answer, but knew it would only make Jaskier sad, so he bit his tongue. He had a feeling it was rhetorical anyway. 

Once Jaskier was dressed once more, he stood in front of Eskel who still sat naked on the bed. “How do I look?”

His clothes were a little rumpled, but he’d cleaned up decently all things considered. Eskel stood, and fixed a few wild strands of hair. “Good. You always look good.” 

Jaskier gave him a quick kiss. “When I get back…” he left the statement hanging, but his eyes said everything.

Eskel smiled. “I look forward to it.”


End file.
